


In the Living Room

by redscudery



Series: Around the House [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Blow Jobs, Boys Kissing, Clothing Kink, Established Relationship, For Science John, For Science!, I'm a ho for red pants, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Red Pants, Red Pants Monday, Sherlock is a Brat, Women's Underwear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-13
Updated: 2014-05-13
Packaged: 2018-01-24 13:46:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1607309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redscudery/pseuds/redscudery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the prompt "john texts sherlock that he needs more pants while he's out and sherlock accidentally buys john red lingerie"</p>
<p>Accidental? Not really. FOR SCIENCE.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Living Room

Definitively impossible for suspect to have hidden in this particular changing booth. SH  
Why are you telling me? Tell Lestrade.

Lestrade not answering me. SH

He’s probably still angry that you burst in on him kissing Molly in the supply cupboard at the morgue last week.

He had your pants. SH

I’ve got lots of pants.

Not red ones, you don’t. SH

What does the colour matter?

It matters. SH

Well then pick some up for me, then, since you’re already at M&S.

_______

 

Sherlock doesn’t answer, which is only slightly worrisome, but John was in the middle of updating his blog anyway, so he forgets about it in a jumble of semicolons and gory details. 

It’s not till much later that Sherlock comes bounding up the steps. John saves, stands up, and stretches. 

“Hello,” he says. He’s about to ask whether Sherlock wants a sandwich and a cup of tea, but the words are forestalled by a whirl of coat and curls, and suddenly John finds himself surrounded by cold detective. Sherlock’s hands are scrabbling at him; by the time John is able to grab Sherlock’s wrists, his cardigan is off his shoulders and three of his shirt buttons are undone. 

“Sherlock!” 

“John. Clothes off.” Sherlock’s eyes are bright, his pupils dilated. Not high, John thinks, but clearly in the grip of some mania. 

“You could at least kiss me first, yeah?” He knows he should probably find out what it is before getting carried away, but he is already getting hard. 

“You and your bloody social conventions,” Sherlock grumbles, but he dips his head to John’s anyway and nips John’s lower lip. 

“Cheap.”

“Hardly. I brought you something.” He twists his left hand from John’s slackened grip and rummages in the pocket of the Belstaff, pulling out a Marks & Spencer bag. 

“It’s underwear.” John says, remembering.

“Very good. I want you to try it on.” 

“Right now?”

“Right now.”

John looks at Sherlock. There is a glint in his eye, the kind that’s usually reserved for decaying foxes.

“Tell me, Sherlock, before I do, why I’ll regret this. Because I know I will, somehow.”

“I promise, John, that you will not. There may be a little initial outlay in terms of loss of dignity, but if the hypothesis is proven- as I think it will be- you will regret nothing.”

“Define ‘loss of dignity’.”

“You may find the, er, cut of the undergarments unfamiliar to you.”

“This isn’t a thong, is it?”

“No. Well, not entirely.”

“Show them to me.” John sighs.

Sherlock, grinning, dumps the bag on the couch. There are several pairs, all red.

Not, however, all men’s underwear. 

“Sherlock, that pair has lace. And that pair is… no. M&S does not, absolutely not, sell underwear like that.”

“Surprisingly enough, they do.”

“Sherlock!”

But John is still hard, and so he lets Sherlock strip him down and hand him the first pair- red boxer briefs, striped. He pulls them on, adjusting his cock as he does so, and stands with his hands on his hips looking at Sherlock.

“Good?”

“Very nice.” Sherlock runs his hands around John’s waist and back to grip his arse, pulling him close. John pushes the coat off Sherlock’s shoulders and attempts to kiss him, properly this time, but Sherlock breaks away. 

“Those are well enough. Try these ones, though” he says, holding up a pair that look like regular men’s briefs. 

John sheds the first pair and pulls on the second. They are a little scantier than he’s used to, but his erection has subsided, so everything is where it should be, more or less.

It doesn’t last long, though. Sherlock, having shed his coat, is pacing around him, looking at him so intensely that John can almost feel it. When he reaches out and trails his finger along John’s belly, John inhales sharply and the blood rushes to his cock again.

“Are you sure those are comfortable?” Sherlock sounds smug. John stares him in the eye, then reaches down and rubs his hand along his own length.

“Very.”

Sherlock grabs his hand away. 

“No. Mine.” He’s not exactly growling, but he’s not unaffected, either, and John grins to himself.

“Then do something about it.”

“Eventually,” Sherlock answers, and holds out another pair. 

It’s a thong. A man’s thong, but a thong nonetheless.

“There’s no back on these.”

“Visible underwear lines are unacceptable, John.”

“Wait, you? Do you?” John’s mind stutters to a halt for a moment as he considers the implications of this. It’s only Sherlock’s now-warm fingers tugging at the current pair of pants that brings him back.

“All right,” he says. He tries to push Sherlock’s hands away to no avail; the waistband rubs over his increasingly sensitive erection. He sighs despite himself as Sherlock slides the pants down his thighs, long fingers trailing along his quadriceps and down around the back of his knees.

It takes a little undignified wriggling to get into the thong, and Sherlock actually turns him around to check that it’s on properly. It’s a little disturbing, how comfortable it is; he would have thought that having something between his arse cheeks…

Then he stops thinking. Sherlock has come up behind him, and, wrapping his body around John like a leech, runs his thumbs along John’s inner thighs. The friction is delicious and not enough, and John leans back into him, opening his legs slightly. In response, Sherlock bites his neck, and John’s hips buck up towards empty air. 

“Sherlock!” he hisses, and Sherlock just chuckles, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of the thong and dragging it down. He reaches to touch himself again but Sherlock grabs his wrist and turns him around, propelling him towards the couch. As John sits ungracefully, hampered by the pants at mid-thigh, Sherlock drops to his knees.

“Now,” he says, and the vibrations of his voice go directly to John’s groin, “The other ones.”

“Those,” John says, as sternly as he can when Sherlock is kneeling in front of him, “are women’s underwear. You don’t even like women.”

“I like some women,” Sherlock answers gravely.

“Nude? Aroused?”

“No. That doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate the contrast between these very lacy … Brazilian? Knickers and your very hard cock, John Watson.”

Another bolt of arousal as those lips form the word “cock.” John lets Sherlock replace the thong with the knickers. They’re softer and lighter than the men’s pants, and as he lifts his hips to let Sherlock settle them into place, he starts to think that maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea. The silky fabric hugs him, and the look in Sherlock’s eyes is positively incandescent. 

He tries not to think too much about how he got here, nude except for a pair of sheer knickers, with Sherlock Holmes kneeling in front of him. Instead, he focuses on Sherlock’s hot breath along his thighs. He’s working his way up, teasing; John is tempted to grab those curls and use Sherlock’s so-sensitive scalp to his advantage, but he waits, letting the sensation roll over him.

After an endless number of breaths, Sherlock’s lips are on him through the thin fabric. John arches up into the touch, and Sherlock lets him rub himself, slowly, against his face. He takes John’s hips in his hands, then cups his arse and rocks with him. There’s a damp spot on the fabric, now, and as their pace increases the knickers slide down a bit, setting the tip of John’s cock free. 

Sherlock lifts himself up a bit; John gasps at the loss of contact, but then Sherlock’s mouth closes over him and he loses the plot a bit. When he can, when he’s accustomed just enough to the slick pressure of Sherlock’s mouth, he looks down.  The knickers are bunched around his hips, now; Sherlock has grabbed one side and is running his fingers through the fabric, touching, and tasting, and watching. John focuses, steadies himself, and looks carefully as Sherlock takes him in deep and his cock come out shiny and wet. 

Then Sherlock tightens his grip, both on the knickers and John’s cock, and John closes his eyes again. The multitude of sensation is driving him towards orgasm, and as he rocks more insistently, Sherlock hums his pleasure. The vibration tips John over the edge and he comes, gasping, as Sherlock holds on through the spasms. 

“Any regrets?” Sherlock asks, almost before John’s come back to himself.

“None,” John breathes, and reaches for Sherlock’s trouser button.

 

 

 

 


End file.
